


let it burn

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: rareprompts [12]
Category: Free!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hospital scene, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Sousuke less than a second to grit his teeth and look down. It takes Kisumi even less time than that to trail off, words unspoken, and step closer. Kisumi's always been the kind to <i>touch</i>, casually - thoughtlessly -</p>
            </blockquote>





	let it burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ccp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccp/gifts).



> For CC, who asked for KisuSou. This is a scene I always wanted to explore, somewhere in the back of my mind, so thank you for giving me the chance to try! I hope you like it ♥
> 
> (The feel/title of this fic was very much influenced by Adele's "Set Fire to the Rain")

When they meet again for the first time, the air-conditioning's acting up in the hospital corridors, and breathing is like coming out of the sea for gasps of oxygen.

There's a lilt when he speaks that hasn't changed, even as the voice itself has deepened. Barely. At the sound of someone calling his name, Sousuke turns, and hates himself the next instant.

Kisumi stands up. He unfolds himself off the bench, long and languid, tie hanging loosely off an unbuttoned collar; he smiles, and he shines in the dim sterility of this space.

 _He,_ not those gemstone eyes or the gentle waves in his pink hair, the faint blush on his lips; _he,_ not the luminescence beneath his breathily sun-kissed skin.

Sousuke hates himself even more then, for, even as Kisumi closes the distance between them quickly, far too quickly, with those long, long legs of his, he does not move, can't run away like he knows he should. There is an unnatural gravity rooting his feet to the floor.

The promise of their youth has been more than fulfilled, in both of them. Life is fair, after all, in dispensing its realities: Sousuke, drawn in hard, solid earthy lines, Kisumi, sketched in brushstrokes so ethereal he flows like the wind. In his mind, Sousuke sees him lighter than air, sees him spin round the playground's bars, moving from low to high to higher as he grew taller. The supple grace of his agility is a double-edged weapon, beautiful and strong.

And here they both are, now, with bandages; Kisumi's, visible to the world round his right hand, Sousuke's, hidden.

(and a harsh voice in the back of Sousuke's head whispers, his _right_ hand, his _basketball hand_ -)

Sousuke feels the pain in his shoulder flare up. Unconsciously, he reaches for it, and he doesn't miss the way Kisumi's eyes flick right to that spot, sees the question start to form on his open mouth.

Here, of all places. They are trapped in the narrowness of a place where they're supposed to feel better, _get_ better, and maybe it doesn't mean anything but maybe it does, that it is in this corridor that they meet after four years. Only the wounded find themselves in need of healing.

It takes Sousuke less than a second to grit his teeth and look down. It takes Kisumi even less time than that to trail off, words unspoken, and step closer. Kisumi's always been the kind to _touch_ , casually - thoughtlessly -

 _No,_ thinks Sousuke, but they have grown to be of a height, and Kisumi's breath on his jawline is warm as his fingers graze Sousuke's shoulder through his jacket.

 _No,_ thinks Sousuke, and it's like a jolt through his body to realise this is no thoughtless touch, and he closes his eyes because if there's anywhere he can permit himself just one little luxury, maybe it's _here_ , right here.

They dance on a knife's edge, Kisumi running his hand down slowly, slowly, feather-light and gentle on Sousuke's shoulder - arm - forearm -

Sousuke closes his eyes, and takes a shuddering breath.

When he opens them again, Kisumi's gaze is searching for his, and Sousuke looks away, looks down again, just in time. He swallows hard.

A door opens. Kisumi steps back.

His lips part again, then close, and as he turns to walk away, he smiles. Sousuke hears his voice ring out once more, greeting the doctor in the consultation room.

The door closes with a light thud, and he is gone.

The touch of his fingers on Sousuke's arm is already fading. Tomorrow, Sousuke will question their truth with his sceptic's mind, will let himself believe that it never happened and meant nothing, nothing at all, just the lingering remnants of a childhood affection.

Today, he will sear it into the memory of his skin and walk out into the cool of autumn, and the rain will not wash those fingerprints away.

When they meet again for the second time, he'll make it real.

 


End file.
